


I Hate How Much I Want to Know You

by TeenCaterpillar



Series: Harringrove Snippets [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Child Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gay yearning, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeenCaterpillar/pseuds/TeenCaterpillar
Summary: He was getting ready to go home when he saw him.  He squinted at first, confused, because seriously?Steve Harrington was walking into the park, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a bat withfucking nailsin it.  His shoulders were up to his ears and it looked like he only had on a sweater, probably with a dumbass school logo on it, for warmth.  Didn’t he fucking grow up in this cold ass shit hole?  Billy knew that he should drive away, ignore whatever the fuck was up, but Billy didn’t have weed or alcohol or cigarettes, and he really, really didn’t want to go home.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove Snippets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1506065
Comments: 12
Kudos: 141





	I Hate How Much I Want to Know You

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly a Billy study kinda?? I started writing this ages ago and I just wanted to finally put some of it out there. There's more to come, and I have ideas, but yeah. Mostly I just like writing about Billy so here we fucking go.
> 
> I just need Gay Billy yearning for Steve, that's really about it.
> 
> Unbeta'd as hell.
> 
> I'll probs add tags as I go since I haven't finished this yet

Billy shivered in his car, pulling his useless denim jacket tighter around himself. The only light was a distant lamp post and the lit end of his cigarette, which was almost finished. It was his last one and he had to savour it. He inhaled, closing his eyes as he felt the smoke burn in his lungs. He exhaled through his nose and leaned his head back to thunk against the headrest. What a fucking shit show. The evening had started normally enough, Billy had been keeping his head down like he’d be taught, but apparently something about his existence this evening was too much for his father. He’d been in his room, just doing his fucking homework, when his dad had come in. He didn’t stand immediately, taking time to put his stuff away, and boy, that had been the wrong choice. Taking too long to stand was _a show of disrespect_.

It wasn’t a long beating. His father punched him in the gut and ribs this time around, a few quick jabs and uppercuts and he’d had his fill. Billy had lowered himself to his knees, curling his arms protectively around his stomach, wondering why the fuck he even bothered. He heard Max laughing down the hallway and seethed inside. Fuck her. Fuck her and her mom. He grit his teeth, pushing up from the floor. His dad had left his keys, thank fucking god, and he swiped them off his dresser, tugging on his jacket as he stormed out of his room. Once he got outside though, he paused. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go. The kids at school were boring at best, mostly just little drama queens who liked to gossip about the most inane shit.

So he had just climbed into his car, drove to the nearest park, and sat inside the camaro while smoking and blasting music. Maybe if he played it loud enough he could distract himself from the painful throb in his ribs. Nothing was broken, that was for sure, but they might have been bruised. Fuck. He needed something stronger than cigarettes, but his father had cleaned him out, demanding extra rent money because Billy had tracked mud in the house. Nevermind that Billy hadn’t tracked mud in the house, that wasn’t the point. The point was his father wanted him without his vices, to be on edge and angry, so he’d misstep and give his father a better reason to pummel the living shit out of him. Billy breathed harshly, growling when he realized his cigarette was basically finished. He rolled down the window and chucked the butt out, quickly rolling it back up. It was supposed to be fucking _spring_ and the shit town still had bits of dirty brown snow laying around. There wasn’t even any mud to track in, seeing as how the ground was still mostly frozen. He punched the dashboard a few times, wincing when his knuckle connected a little too harshly.

Fuck, he wanted to smoke some goddamn weed.

He was getting ready to go home when he saw him. He squinted at first, confused, because seriously?

Steve Harrington was walking into the park, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around a bat with _fucking nails_ in it. His shoulders were up to his ears and it looked like he only had on a sweater, probably with a dumbass school logo on it, for warmth. Didn’t he fucking grow up in this cold ass shit hole? Billy knew that he should drive away, ignore whatever the fuck was up, but Billy didn’t have weed or alcohol or cigarettes, and he really, really didn’t want to go home.

So instead he watched.

Steve sat on a bench, laying the bat on his lap, before just staring out into the woods. Billy waited, seeing if he would do more, something, anything; but he just sat there, alert and on edge, watching the woods while holding a bat. It was fucking weird as hell. Billy was half tempted to go ask him what the fuck he was doing.

But he didn’t. He’d never apologized for beating his face in and wasn’t feeling too keen on doing so at the moment. He was way too sober for that. Harrington probably wouldn’t give him the time of day, anyway, and he couldn’t blame him. Billy had been so fucking angry that night. He’d been so _fucking_ angry that when Steve’s punch had landed, he saw red. Hadn’t even really realized what he was doing until Max had jammed that damn needle into his neck. Even he’d been a little horrified at the amount of blood on Steve’s face. He wondered, briefly, if that’s what happened with his dad. If he was on his way to becoming Neil 2.0. The thought made a chill settle in the pit of his stomach and he started the car, peeling away. As he drove off, he saw Steve whip around, shock and terror on his face. He didn’t think about it too hard.

\--

Well, he tried. But there had been something in that look, something in the way Harrington had looked… He looked petrified. But Billy knew it wasn’t about him. Steve wasn’t waiting out there for _him_ with a baseball bat. So what did he think he had heard? He hadn’t looked that scared when Billy was--

He took a deep breath, pushing the thought away. Bury it, don’t think about it. _Don’t fret because it’s better if he hates you. You need him to hate you._

He didn’t feel good about what he did. It made him too much like his father. But it was easier and better if he let it be a barrier between him and Steve. The more space the better. Steve-- no-- Harrington, was a disaster waiting to happen for Billy Hargrove. Smooth skin littered with moles, skin that would darken beautifully if sucked on just right --

Billy punched his pillow, growling. _Fuck_. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. No more of that. He closed his eyes, cleared everything except the thought of beating his father to a pulp from his mind, and fell asleep.

\--

He dreamt of nothing and nearly broke his alarm in the morning. The only reason he didn’t was because if he overslept and Max was late, it’d be like painting a target on his face yelling, “Hit me, fuck face!” His father was waiting for an excuse to _teach him a lesson_ , and Billy wasn’t gonna hand it to him on a silver platter. If spite fueled him, so fucking be it. Max took the usual amount of time to get ready and Billy tapped his fingers on the table impatiently.

“Aren’t you fucking ready yet?” He snapped. Max came down the stairs, an angry frown on her face, and she grabbed some of the cinnamon toast he had made. His father shot him a warning look as he herded his stepsister out the door and Billy looked away, hating how fucking weak it made him look. He slammed his door when he got in the car, making Max flinch. She glared at him and he just bared his teeth at her before starting the car and heading to school. He tapped along to his music and did not slow down at all when he passed the park to see if Steve had frozen overnight. There was no one there. Max gave him a weird look, seeing as he was close to actually going the speed limit, so he revved the car and stepped on the gas.

“I have AV Club after school,” she said when he had parked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied dismissively. “Don’t be fucking late.” She slammed the car door and headed for the middle school. Billy didn’t move to get out. He could skip. School didn’t sound thrilling and he didn’t really feel like pretending to care about whatever Tommy and Carol had to say. But he could bum cigarettes off them. And his dad would hear if he skipped, which was _not_ good. He growled and got out of the car, ignoring the girls huddled together, watching him. He strut inside, shoving some freshman nerd’s books out of his hands because he could, and paused when he saw Harrington.

He had circles under his eyes, though his hair was still perfect, that stupid fucker, and he looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up. Nancy and Jonathan were talking to him, both looking concerned, though Nancy was the one doing the talking. Shocker. Billy was still staring when Steve looked up, locking eyes with him. Billy didn’t move, couldn’t. Steve raised an eyebrow and Billy just tried to shrug it off, turning away and slamming the locker of some kid closed. He didn’t look back, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Obviously Harrington had known Billy saw him last night. His car was made to grab attention, which is why he had it, but for the first time he wished he could have faded into the background. He caught glimpses of Harrington throughout the day; the fucker would keep falling asleep in class before jerking awake, eyes wide. He sat in the back so no one would notice. Billy noticed. He always noticed him.

Harrington had gotten under his skin almost immediately. Rich fucker who _rules the school_ , has a girlfriend and a life set up for him. Billy had _hated_ him. Then he had seen him and hated him even more. It was easier to take the interest, the need and the want, and turn them into something uglier, meaner. So that’s what Billy did. Egged Harrington on. Taunted and teased and never, ever let him catch him looking. It was hard not to. Billy wasn’t sure he could ignore him if he tried. Was positive, actually, because he had. He’d tried so _fucking_ hard not to want Harrington, to not want to run his tongue over his skin and fist his hands in that hair.

Then there was the fight. And the way Harrington stood up for and protected those kids. The way he didn’t flinch away from Billy, even after he beat his face in. It had ignited something deeper in Billy. Something that grew past desire and was slowly growing into a _need_. He wanted Steve to look at him like that, like he mattered. Like he was _worth something_. Wanted to kiss him tenderly and caress his cheek.

_Faggot_ , his father’s voice rang in his ears.

Billy sucked in a breath and tore his eyes away from Steve, who had fallen asleep _again_. He needed to get a hold of himself. To stop being such a fucking-- He exhaled sharply through his nose and tried to focus on something other than Steve _fucking_ Harrington.

\--

Billy was convinced that the world fucking hated him. He could never catch a goddamn break. Steve was leaning against the beemer when he pulled up, obviously waiting for the group of nerds he mothered. Max’s little smartass friends. Ignoring the alarm bells in his head, he got out of the car and sauntered over to Steve, leaning next to him. Steve only glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Billy pulled out the cigarette pack he had lifted off of Tommy and lit one. He held out the pack to Steve, who eyed it warily for a moment, then took one. Billy lit it for him without thinking, taking the time to absorb the tiny details of Steve. The moles, the dark eyes, the fucking _red lips_. He wondered when he had stopped thinking of him as Harrington. Chided himself for the loss in control, but shuddered with excitement at the thought of just letting go. Letting himself want and desire openly. Steve’s eyes flicked up to his and Billy shrugged.

“It’s fucking cold in this shit hole,” he said. Steve snorted and looked away, blowing out the smoke and watching it curl up. He didn’t say anything, so Billy didn’t either. He wasn’t going to bring up the night before. He _wasn’t_.

“It won’t really warm up until May,” Steve said, taking another drag. Billy made a face.

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope,” Steve said with a grin. “Get used to the cold, Hargrove. You’re gonna be spending most of your time in it.” Billy rolled his eyes. Steve’s smile dropped and he looked back at the doors to the middle school. Billy wanted to ask him why he had that bat. He didn’t. Steve kept stealing glances at him, but Billy wasn’t going to give in and look back. Or talk. So they smoked in silence, a weird electric energy between them.

The kids came out, talking loudly about some sort of nerd shit, but they paused when they noticed Billy. He chucked his cigarette butt, ignored Steve, and got back into his car. Max climbed in, eyeing him suspiciously, but he ignored her too.

“What were you doing?” She asked. Billy rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to answer. She huffed and looked out the window. “Whatever. Just don’t bug Steve.” _Or you’ll get the bat_ was the underlying threat. Billy just shrugged.

When they got home, Max ran upstairs. Billy tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl Susan had gotten for them. He was heading up to his room when his father pressed a hand to his chest. He stopped, breathing as calmly as he could, before facing his father. Neil wasn’t angry, so far as Billy could tell, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t flip moods on a dime.

“Yessir?” His voice was quiet and he hated himself for it. Hated how small and weak his father made him feel.

“Did you get the groceries I asked for?” A hand clamped down on Billy’s neck and his shoulders hunched unconsciously. He swallowed. His father hadn’t asked him _shit_ , he hadn’t even talked to him this morning, and Billy knew that the rest of this _conversation_ was going to hurt.

“No, sir. You didn’t ask--” He was cut off by his father jerking him to the side by his neck.

“Did you. Get. The groceries. I asked for.” Billy fought his instinct to squirm away, standing his ground.

“You didn’t _ask_ ,” he grit out. “I can go back out--” His father shoved him against the wall, hand shifting to Billy’s throat. He froze, pressing as much into the wall as he could. His father squeezed, teasing him. Like he wanted Billy to know he’d kill him if he could. Like Billy didn’t already fucking know that. Neil watched him squirm, eyes dark with cruel pleasure. Finally his father released him and Billy staggered forward. The backhand wasn’t surprising, but he wasn’t ready, and it sent him thudding against the railing of the stairs. He moved to stand, his father taking advantage of his movement, using the momentum to slam Billy’s face into the wall. Billy bit back the curse on the tip of his tongue, blood beginning to gush from his nose. He stayed down this time, his father kicking him in the side. He wanted to curl up, but he didn’t. He stayed upright, holding his ribs, which already hurt like a bitch from the day before. The sound of his father’s boots brought him out of his thoughts.

“Clean yourself up. Make sure the blood on the wall doesn’t stain. Then go get the eggs.” And that was it. Billy clenched his fist but didn’t dare punch the wall. His father was listening and would come back in for round two. So Billy slowly stood up, hissing in pain, and went to the downstairs bathroom. After cleaning the wall first, because _fuck_ if he was gonna get in trouble for that stupid shit, he poked at his nose. It hurt like a bitch, but he was 80% sure it wasn’t broken. He’d get it checked out at school maybe, see if he could charm the nurse into checking it out without telling anyone. Yeah right.

He went to the front door, glad he hadn’t bothered to take off his shoes, and paused when he saw his keys were gone. He wanted to ask, wanted to curse, but the message was clear. So he shoved his hands in his pockets and stormed out, the wind slapping at his face. The store wasn’t far, but far enough that this was going to be a long cold walk. He still had some cotton up his nose, blocking it from bleeding onto his shirt more than it had, and he ripped it out, gritting his teeth when it jostled his nose too much. Fuck. Maybe it was broken. He kicked a rock, hard, smirking to himself when it landed in a flock of birds. They squawked and flew off.

Billy had gone from seething to angry in the time it took to walk to the store, which was probably the best he could hope for. Eggs. That’s fucking all his dad had needed. _Fucking eggs_. His simmering anger began to boil again and he stomped through the store, wishing it felt better when people moved out of his way. He grabbed a carton of the nicer eggs, because _Susan likes organic, or are you too dumb to remember that_ , and spun on his heel, ready to stomp back out. He nearly ran into some goddamn kid.

“Fucking watch it,” he snapped. When he looked down, he noticed it was one of Max’s friends. The annoying one in the hat. He glared at Billy, and, really, these kids were picking the wrong time to grow balls, but before either of them could speak, Harrington came around the corner.

“Dustin, we’re not getting-- Oh.” He paused, eyes darting between Billy and Dustin, and Billy took the chance to shoulder his way past Harrington. “Fuck, dude,” Harrington said as he walked away. Billy flipped him off, ignoring the conversation that started as he left.

“You can’t just let him do that!”

“He’s not worth it, ok? Chill out.”

It wasn’t like he really _cared_ what Steve thought, but something in Billy clenched painfully. He wasn’t worth it. Wasn’t worth anything. He left without paying for the eggs.

\--

After his family, if he could even fucking call it that, had fallen asleep, Billy climbed out of his window. His father still had his keys, wouldn’t give them back until tomorrow morning, but Billy wouldn’t want to drive anyway. He grabbed the Jack Daniels he had bought after the eggs and stashed in the bushes. Cougars in this town were begging for him to notice them, and Billy was nothing if not resourceful. He smirked and downed some of the whiskey, enjoying the burn in the back of his throat. Without a destination in mind, he started walking. The bottle was full when he started, and was well on the way to being half gone when he finally slumped against a tree by the side of the road. Billy squatted against it, one hand loosely gripping the bottle, the other pressed against his temple. He ran his fingers through his hair before tilting his head back. He felt warm and wobbly, the alcohol preventing him from feeling the cold, and he wondered if he could just stay right here. Freeze overnight. No one would care. Not really. Things would probably be easier for everyone if he was gone, himself included.

Fuck. Billy sucked in a breath and forced himself to stand up. He stumbled, getting a head rush from standing too fast. With a groan, he began to move, heading back in what he hoped was the direction of his house. He had to stop a few times to puke, getting some on his shirt. Fuck it, he thought. There’s already blood all over, why not add some fucking vomit. His vision blurred some more and he found himself tripping and stumbling more than he should. So he stopped, resting against a tree. His eyes closed, and he wondered if he could maybe just sleep right here, when he heard the sound of a car stopping behind him. Pushing off of the tree he spun around, ready to fight, but stopped when he saw the car. It wasn’t his father’s truck.

“Dude, what the _fuck_?” Billy smirked.

“Well, well,” he slurred. “That you Harrington? What’s a rich pretty boy like you doing out at a time like this?” He was too fucking drunk for whatever was happening. Didn’t have the control over his mouth. Not that he usually had a lot of control, but he put a lot of effort into not flirting with Harrington.

“Shit, Hargrove, how fucking drunk are you?” Harrington came over, pausing before making a _very bad decision_ , in Billy’s opinion. Harrington took his arm and pulled it over his shoulder. He squinted at Billy, frowning. “Ugh, gross, what the fuck is all over your clothes?”

“Blood, puke,” Billy listed off, “Maybe some dirt. Fuck if I know.” He brought the bottle up, ready to take another pull, but Steve grabbed it out of his hand. “What the fuck?” Billy snarled. He grabbed for the bottle, but his coordination was way more off than he thought, and his pitiful attempt was easily thwarted.

“What are you doing out here?” Steve said. “Besides drinking yourself into a stupor,” he amended when Billy opened his mouth to make a smartass remark. He shouldered Billy into his car, which was so fucking warm that Billy let out a sigh of relief.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Billy grumbled. He let his head roll and fall back against the headrest. He cracked open an eye, when he had closed them was anyone’s guess, and looked Steve up and down as he buckled him in. “No bat tonight?” Steve stiffened and pursed his lips before slamming the door shut. “Okay, princess,” Billy drawled to the door. Steve got in and pulled out. They drove in silence for a while and Billy watched the trees pass by. He wondered what time it was.

“Seriously, Hargrove,” Steve said. “What the fuck do you think you were doing?” Billy felt angry then.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Harrington,” he seethed, his anger boiling now that it had an outlet. “Just fucking let me out.”

“No,” Steve said, eyes on the road and voice calm. Billy raised a brow.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re going to get yourself fucking killed out there, drunk as you are--”

“I can take care of myself, pretty boy,” Billy snapped, cutting him off. “Let. Me. Out.”

“Not. Gonna. Happen,” Steve responded, hands gripping the steering wheel. “You do realize you weren’t even walking in the right direction to go home, right?” Billy scoffed. “Why do I even fucking bother,” Steve murmured, probably to himself, but it made Billy’s hackles rise.

“I don’t know, Harrington,” he spit out. “I’m certainly not worth it.” He regretted it the minute he said it. It came out too honest and almost broken, and Billy hated himself for it. Harrington looked shocked, then kind of ashamed, before settling on an emotion Billy hated. Pity. “Just,” he swallowed and looked away, recognizing where he was now that he had sobered up a little, “Let me out here.” He pulled the door open, not waiting for Steve to stop.

“Fuck!” Steve swerved to the side and Billy fell out a little, the seat belt stopping him from falling out completely. He started fidgeting with it, but his hands were still cold and his coordination was off, making it harder than it should have been. Warm hands covered his and he stopped, looking up just as Steve leaned over him. He smelled like cologne and hairspray, not Billy’s cheap shit, something nicer, and Billy inhaled deeply. Steve didn’t notice, thank _fuck_ , and pulled the door shut. He sat back, staring at Billy incredulously. “Are you a fucking idiot?!” He winced at his own words and Billy remembered he had never apologized for beating up Harrington. He was sobering up, but still drunk enough to have loose lips.

“Sorry,” he said. Which seemed to throw Steve for a loop. “For beating the shit out of you, I mean.” Steve’s eyebrows shot up before furrowing in confusion.

“It’s, uh, ok?” His eyes were searching, looking for something Billy definitely didn’t want him to find. But the cold and exhaustion of the night were creeping up on him and he couldn’t find it in himself to move. “Are you… ok?” Billy snorted, hissing when it made his nose hurt.

“Shit!” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, definitely not believing him.

“What are you even doing out here?” He meant for it to sound meaner, but he was too tired.

“Just… Patrolling.” Billy turned to look at him, annoyed. Steve was focused on the road. Which was dumb because he hadn’t actually started to drive again.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, and he didn’t get one. Steve just sighed and pulled back onto the road. He kept glancing at Billy from the corner of his eye. Billy ignored him and dozed off until they had pulled up to his house. He stiffened in fear, but relaxed when he noticed Steve’s lights were off. He ignored Steve when he got out, closing the door quietly.

“Billy--” Steve began, leaning out of the driver’s window.

“Get lost, Harrington,” Billy replied. But he stopped, holding out his hand. Steve looked at it questioningly before reaching out to take it. Billy was glad it was dark, because he started to blush. “No, you idiot,” he deflected, “Gimme my fucking booze.” Steve frowned but grabbed the bottle from by his feet and thrust it into Billy’s hand. He took it, but didn’t move. They stared at each other, both of them looking for _something_ , and it made him feel too raw. Too _seen_. “Thanks,” he said curtly. He didn’t bother waiting to see or hear if Steve responded, heading back towards the side of his house. The beemer drove off and he waited to make sure Steve didn’t come back, not that he would, Billy was barely worth the effort he had already spent, before climbing back into his window.

\--

Billy woke up with the worst hangover he’d had in a while. The sun was bright and shining, of _fucking_ course, and he groaned into his pillow. His face looked like shit, he could feel it, and when he looked in the mirror, he winced. He had mottled bruises all around his nose, which was swelling, and bags under his eyes. Despite the fact that it was futile, he did his hair and got dressed, opting for a loose band tee since the bruising on his ribs was getting worse. He slipped on his boots and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Susan was there, probably waiting for his dad to do fuck knows what, and she avoided his eye when he came in. Bitch. He tried to control his anger, but the cupboard slammed shut after he grabbed his mug, making her jump. He really wanted to feel bad about it, but she seemed fine with letting him get his face bashed into a wall as long as her _precious daughter_ was okay, so he didn’t. His father came in just as Billy sat down to wait for Max and tossed his keys on the table.

“Family dinner. Don’t be late,” his father said. “You understand?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry?” His father stepped forward and Billy sat up straighter.

“Yes, sir,” he said, louder this time. Neil eyed him, sneering at Billy’s earring, just like he always did, before letting it drop. They left and Billy sagged in relief. His head was fucking _throbbing_. He put on his shades, luckily in his jacket pocket, and downed half the cup of coffee. It was hot and burned his tongue. He ignored the pain and finished the second half right as Max came downstairs. She stopped when she saw him, a myriad of emotions crossing her face. Billy was too hungover to care or focus. “Let’s go.” The drive was quieter than usual, mostly because Billy wasn’t blasting his music. Max eyed him suspiciously, nervous, but didn’t say anything. When he pulled up to the middle school though, she didn’t get out.

“Are you--” She began.

“Family dinner,” Billy said. He didn’t want her to ask if he was okay. “So don’t fuck around with your nerd ass friends after school.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped. She slammed the car door, making Billy wince.

School was somehow less bearable than usual. Tommy wouldn’t shut up about some party that weekend, Carol was yapping about some girl that apparently wanted to suck his dick and how gross she was, and Steve Harrington was _everywhere_. Billy tried to ignore him, but the dude was just there. All day. And he was always fucking looking at Billy. Like he had done something last night that had completely altered the way Steve thought the world worked. And as much as he had wanted, _needed_ , Steve’s attention, today was not the fucking day.

By the time lunch rolled around, Billy’s shoulders were up to his ears with tension. Luckily, no one asked about the bruises; they would make up their own stories, which were all better than the truth, anyway. Last he heard, he had gotten into a bar fight. The fuckers weren’t even creative. That bugged him more than the lies. The fact that they weren’t even _good_. Tommy was talking about the latest one and Billy ignored him until he heard Harrington’s name.

“What?” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Dude,” he said, “I _said_ that some kid in my math class was saying that Harrington finally got you back after whatever happened in November.” Billy blinked before rolling his eyes. Tommy smirked. “Knew that was a lie. Harrington never fucking wins fights.”

“Except against you,” Carol teased. Tommy frowned at her and Billy zoned out again, not really caring. He looked around the lunch room, wondering if he could just skip the rest of the day, when his eyes landed on Harrington. Who was looking back. Billy tore his eyes away and stood up.

“Fuck this,” he muttered. He ignored Tommy calling behind him and strode out of the school. He went under the bleachers, pulling out a cigarette with shaking hands. They shook too much for him to get his lighter to light and he threw it on the ground, holding his head in his hands as he tried to regulate his breathing.

“Hey.” Billy whipped around, fists at the ready, but it was Harrington. He held up his hands. “Whoa, put ‘em away, big guy.” Billy sneered and turned away, bending down to look for his lighter.

“Fuck do you want,” Billy asked.

“You--” He bit his lip, looking like he was trying to find the words. “Fuck,” he settled on. Billy’s eyebrows shot up and he turned around, smirking.

“That’s pretty direct, Harrington,” he said, unable to stop the words from coming out. Steve flushed and stammered, taking a step back.

“No! No! I mean, uh, shit.” Billy couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“Eloquent, aren’t you.” Billy took a drag before holding the cigarette out for Steve. He took it, still flushed, and puffed for a moment before handing it back.

“I wanted to, I dunno, see if you were alright, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Peachy fucking keen,” Billy replied. It definitely wasn’t the answer Steve was looking for.

“Okay,” he said, annoyed, “I know you’ve got your whole like, Cali surfer too-cool-to-have-problems thing, but last night you were a fucking mess, dude.” He had that stern look he always used on the shitheads on his face and Billy fought back the laugh that was bubbling inside him.

“I’m still wondering where it’s any of your business,” Billy replied. Steve just shook his head, turning to leave. Billy let him, squishing the sad little part of him that wanted Steve to stay. He closed his eyes, tensing when Steve spoke again.

“Why’d you even apologize?”

“Because,” Billy replied. “I had some of my own shit that I took out on you.”

“The shit that caused that bruise?” His voice was sharp and Billy clenched his jaw. He glared at Steve, who didn’t cower. He never fucking did, the dumbass. Billy wanted to answer. Wanted to say everything that was piling in his chest and making it hard to breathe. But he didn’t. Steve stayed for a minute, waiting for him to answer, until he finally got the message and left.

\--

It was finally the weekend. Max was over at her friend Jane’s house, which meant Billy was free Friday. Free to get shitfaced, at least. He got to Tina’s late, obviously, and soon found himself doing a kegstand in the back. This was good. This was what Billy was meant for. Entertainment for drunks. He cheered when he got down, revelling in the excitement of his peers. Tommy handed him a beer and he tossed it back, belching loudly when he finished. Some girl, fuck if he knew her name, was hanging off his arm, chest pressed firmly against his bicep. He ignored the turning in his stomach and leaned down, kissing her. It was messy and gross, but the crowd whooped, so what did it matter. She was flushed when he pulled back and he ignored whatever she asked him to stumble inside.

He was looking for the bathroom, but instead found the drugs. Billy smoked for a while, loving how it made him feel, before someone offered him something _much_ more fun.

“It’s good shit!” The guy who handed it over yelled. His pupils were blown, he was smiling, and Billy wanted that, so he popped the little paper square into his mouth. He left whatever room he was in, Tina’s parents maybe, and finally got to the bathroom. He took a leak and then stopped in front of the mirror to fix his hair. His nose looked better, at least. It wasn’t broken either. After a final tousle, Billy went back to the party.

Whatever the fucker had given him must have been laced with some other shit, or he was more crossfaded than he thought, because he wasn’t sure what happened between him feeling the acid hit while dancing and waking up on the ground with hushed angry whispers above him.

“Steve! He’s _Billy Hargrove_ ,” someone hissed. And, well, they were right. Didn’t have to say it like that, though.

“That doesn’t mean we can just leave him here, Dustin!” Billy smiled to himself. That was Steve. Good ol’ Steve.

“Harrington,” he drawled. The whispering stopped and suddenly Steve’s face was above his. “Out patrolling again?” He laughed at his joke. There was a sound of outrage from behind Seve, but he ignored it because Steve was much more interesting than whatever was behind him.

“Fucking-- Dustin, shut up!” Steve gestured behind him and that sucked, ‘cause Billy really liked his eyes, but then they were back on him. “Dude, are you ok? How long have you been out here?”

“I’m all good, Steve,” he said. Steve’s eyebrows shot up, for some fucking reason, Billy didn’t know, and he gave him a wink. He thought. “Dunno how long I’ve been here. Last thing I remember was dancing…?” He went to sit up, but a hand on his chest kept him down.

“Dustin, maybe you should call Hop,” he said, voice tight.

“The Easter Bunny?” Billy asked. Behind Steve there was a pained noise, like someone trying really hard not to laugh. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

“God damn-- No, the chief of police.” Billy shot up, groaning when it made the world start spinning. “You should not be sitting up, dude--”

“If you’re calling the cops, m’outta here,” Billy slurred. He moved slowly, so slowly, and found that he had to try really hard to get his feet under him. The ground was so weird and wobbly. He watched each foot, staring at it until it was in the right place. When he was finally upright, he turned to look smugly at Steve. Who seemed wholly unimpressed.

“How drunk are you?”

“He’s wasted.” Billy looked behind Steve, squinting.

“You’re, what, Darcy? Daniel?” God, why couldn’t he remember this kid’s name?

“Dustin,” the kid snapped. “Steve, tell me again why we’re even bothering--”

“Dustin!” Billy snapped his fingers. “Right!” The kid gaped at him, too confused to mouth off. “You’re the one in the hat.” Dustin looked at Steve, confused.

“Uh, yeah,” he said sarcastically, “That’s pretty obvious.” Billy pointed at him, stumbling back a little. Whatever he meant to say got lost though, because he realized his hand was making trails. Nice. He waved his hand around, watching the air around it move. “Steve,” he heard distantly, “What the _fuck_ is going on? Do you think--”

“Billy, what’d you take?” Steve grabbed his shoulder, shaking him a little. Billy looked at him.

“Pretty,” he said, cupping Steve’s face. Distantly, he knew this was _not a good idea_ , alarm bells ringing in his mind, but Steve _was_ pretty. Even prettier when he was blushing.

“Did he just call you pretty?”

“Dustin,” Steve said, voice tight, “I need you to get back in the car.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!”

“That’s not a good reason to leave you alone with a guy that _tried to kill you_!”

“Hey,” Billy cut in, “I apologized.” Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Well,” he drawled, “That just makes everything better.”

“Please,” Steve begged, pained, “Get in the car. Both of you.”

“But--” Steve cut Dustin off with a look. The kid sighed and threw his hands up, getting back into the front seat. Steve made sure he wasn’t about to climb out again before going back to Billy.

“Come on,” he said, sliding an arm around Billy to help him get to the car. “Seriously, though, dude, what did you _take_?”

“There was the beer, the weed, and then the acid--”

“Oh man,” Steve groaned, fumbling to get the door open. He shoved Billy in, letting him lay across the backseat, before getting into the front. They didn’t start driving right away, so Billy pushed himself upright as a thought occurred to him.

“Wait,” he said, frowning a little, “Why’re you hanging with a 10 year old on a Friday night?”

“I’m not 10, what the hell!”

“I’m driving him home from a long game night, now will both of you shut up while I figure out what to do!” Steve snapped. Billy rolled his eyes and lay down again. He trailed his fingers along the carpet in the car, loving the texture. “We really should call Hop,” Steve said, turning to look at Billy.

“No cops,” he mumbled, face smashed against the seat.

“But--”

“No. Cops.” He stared Steve down, but it was hard to focus on being tough when there were moles he could count. Steve sighed and faced forward. The kid was watching them nervously, giving Billy the stink eye whenever he could. So, the next time he did it, Billy stuck his tongue out.

“Okay,” Steve said, drawing their attention. “Dustin, I’m taking you home.” He started the car up and Billy sank a little more into the seat, giggling to himself at the vibrations.

“Did he just giggle? Can he actually do that? Like, laugh like a normal human person?”

“Is everything that comes outta your mouth bullshit?” Billy asked.

“If both of you could just stop talking, I’d really appreciate it,” Steve said, his jaw clenched tight.

“He started it,” Billy whined.

“And I’m ending it,” Steve scolded.

“You’re such a good mother hen,” Billy said, because he had no fucking control anymore.

“Please never call me that again.”

“Whatever, Stevie.”

The rest of the drive to Dustin’s was quiet, save for some weird noises Billy made as the little fairy people fought behind his eyelids. This _was_ good shit. Too good, maybe. Billy forced his eyes open and turned over to stare at the roof of the car. He tried to piece together what happened in between leaving the bathroom and waking up on the side of the road, but it was all too fuzzy. Too much noise and color blending together, creating an angry buzz at the back of his brain. He pressed his palms to his eyes, groaning softly. It hadn’t been anywhere near long enough to be coming down, but it seemed like the peak of the trip was starting to settle into something calmer. The car jerked to a stop and Billy almost fell off the seat, shooting a hand out to stop himself.

“Steve, please call me when you get home,” Dustin said, eyeing Billy one last time. “I don’t trust him.” He was whispering, but god the kid did _not_ know how to be quiet. Billy decided to ignore him, though, focusing on getting himself upright.

“There’s-- I think he’s got some shit going on, ok?” Billy snorted at that.

“We all have shit going on, asshole,” he drawled. Sitting up was proving too hard, so Billy stopped trying. “The world’s fucked, this town is fucked, my life is fucked--” He snapped his mouth shut, ignoring the way the kid kept staring at him like he was some sort of puzzle. His stare was softer now, like Billy wasn’t a threat so much as an interesting specimen. It was weird and non-hostile, and Billy wasn’t really sure how he felt about it.

“I’ll call, Dustin. Now get out. It’s already 1:30 and I told your mom I’d have you home an hour ago.” There was a noise of resignation and the sound of the door shutting softly. Billy opened his eyes, unsure of when he had closed them. “You wanna keep lying prone in the backseat or do you think you can handle being in the front,” Steve deadpanned. Billy stumbled out of the back and into the passenger seat, his limbs loose and hard to control. When he had finally settled, only buckling up because Steve refused to move the car unless he was, he let out a long sigh. He turned to look at Steve, who was looking right back. He seemed annoyed.

“What?” Billy asked, defensive. Steve gave him a look he couldn’t decipher before shaking his head and pulling out of the kid’s driveway. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” Steve said. His mouth was in a tight line. Billy wanted to reach out and smooth the angry, worried lines on his face.

“That’s pretty forward--”

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” Steve snapped. Billy looked out the window, biting his tongue. He didn’t know why he felt upset, ready to provoke a fight. Whatever the fuck that douchebag at the party gave him was fucking with his brain. Maybe he should’ve stuck to two things instead of three that night.

“Why are you doing this?” Billy was so tired. He’d wanted so long for someone, _anyone_ , to give a shit about what happened to him, but now that someone seemed to care, it was exhausting. This kind of caring and kindness wasn’t meant for people like him. People who hurt others for fun because they have no other way of releasing the anger inside of them. And he was always angry, always hurting. “I’m an asshole. I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You may be a dickhead, but I’d be an even bigger one if I just left you there.” His eyes darted to Billy for a moment, then back to the road. “Plus, this is the second time in, like, a week that I’ve found you fucked up on the side of the road. You’ve gotta find better places to drink.”

“Thought maybe if I froze to death the world might be a little better off.” Billy needed to sober up. His lips and limbs were too loose. The control he had so carefully created was being demolished thanks to one evening of poor choices. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so fucking embarassing. Steve stopped the car and Billy realized they were at his house. Or mansion, more like. “Wow--”

“You’re not ok,” Steve said. Billy rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. “Why won’t you let people help you? You may be an asshole, but you could be better.” Billy laughed hollowly.

“That’s a good one, Harrington,” he sneered. “You gonna be a comedian?”

“Why are you like this?” Steve snapped, frustrated. Suddenly, Billy flashed back. Images started spitting themselves at him, memories of his father. When his father broke his arm and he cried. When his father found him and his mother putting on lipstick together. When his dad found him in bed with a boy. _Why are you like this? Disgusting, filthy **faggot**!_ He couldn’t breathe.

Billy was dimly aware that someone was saying his name and shaking his shoulder, but he couldn’t see who it was, didn’t know if he was safe, so he curled in on himself, whimpering. So weak. _So fucking weak_. A noise of grief was pulled out of him, and he bit his tongue to keep himself quiet. If he was quiet, if he didn’t make the wrong sound, then he’d be okay. Okay enough, at least.

Why _was_ he like this? Why couldn’t he just be fucking _normal_. Why couldn’t he stop himself from hurting other people. Why couldn’t he stop himself from wanting hard skin and rough hands against him. Wanting stubble burn on his collarbone and neck. Wanting Steve Harrington. His lungs tightened and he felt blood drip from the corner of his mouth where he was biting his tongue so hard it was starting to bleed.

There were hands on him again, from the other side this time, and he fought them, lashing out. But they were gentle. They weren’t trying to hit him. He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears that were there, and saw Harrington. His eyes were wide with fear and his hands were only Billy’s face, trying to get him to focus.

“--ce, ok? Listen to my voice and count with me. 1, 2, 3, 4--”

“5,” Billy said, spit and blood dribbling down his chin. The darkness around his vision started to fade as he counted with Steve, and he was able to focus on more than his memories. His breathing calmed and he closed his eyes. Steve wiped a tear off of his cheek and Billy leaned into the touch, unable to stop himself.

“You better?” Steve still hadn’t taken his hands off Billy’s face. He nodded, unable to trust his mouth, and finally Steve let go. He helped Billy out of the car and into the house, getting him onto the couch. Steve left, turning on lights as he went, and Billy wanted to call him back, but his mouth wouldn’t work. All he could do was make a choked off groan. Steve returned with a glass of cloudy water and a popsicle, handing them to Billy. “Saltwater rinse, then apply the popsicle like an ice pack.” Billy did so, gagging slightly when he spit the water back into the cup. “Fuck, dude,” Steve whispered. Billy looked down and saw how pink, nearly red, the water was.

“Tongues bleed a lot,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” Steve shook his head and Billy sucked on the popsicle, leaning back into the couch cushions. He was so fucking tired. His body ached and his brain throbbed in his skull, but he couldn’t fall asleep just yet. “My dad.”

“What?” Steve was looking at him, he could feel it, but looking back would be too much.

“He-- He’s the--” He gestured to his fucked up face. “The shit I’m dealing with.” God he could go for a smoke right about now. Steve sucked in a breath, like he’d been punched in the gut.

“So--”

“It’s my fault though,” he mumbled.

“Uhm, it is definitely _not_ your fault that your father almost broke your nose--”

“It’s ‘cause I’m a faggot.” Billy smirked a little when Steve’s mouth snapped shut. “A cock loving fairy. A _queer_ \--”

“Stop,” Steve said, voice tight with rage. “Stop it.”

“Why?” Billy looked at him then, anger and shame bubbling under his skin. “It’s true. It’s what I am. A useless piece of shit fairy who’s got nothing to give the world.” Steve was quiet, his face twisted with held back anger. Billy licked his lips before looking away and popping the popsicle back in his mouth.

“Your dad,” Steve seethed, “Is a piece of shit. Is that what he tells you?” Billy shrugged. He’d said more than enough already, and was starting to regret it. Steve was a good person. The kind of person who helped other people. As much as Billy yearned for it, his father beating him was an inevitability. It wouldn’t change, it would never fucking change, and he was so _stupid_ for hoping that it could. For wanting it to. “Billy,” Steve said, his voice sharp. “That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, but it’s fucking life.” He closed his eyes. “I’m tired, Harrington.” Steve looked like he wanted to say more, but held himself back. He deflated a little, eyes suddenly nervous. Fuck. Billy had just outed himself, like an _idiot_ , and now the guy he was with was eyeing him nervously. Fucking superb.

“So,” he said, hands twitching like he wanted to fidget but was scared to move, “You’re actually gay? Like, for real?” Billy couldn’t help it. He snorted.

“Yeah, and if you tell anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.” Billy meant to sound threatening, but it came out way more scared than he meant it to. Steve wouldn’t look at him and it was driving him crazy, so he stood up. “I should--”

“How did you know?” Steve said it in a rush, like if he didn’t say it quickly he wouldn’t say it at all.

“Uh,” Billy stammered. This was _not_ where he pictured this going, and he was still kind of tripping, which made the entire situation even more weird. Before he could even start to form a response, Steve swallowed and shook his head.

“Nevermind.”

“O-kay,” Billy drawled. Weird. “Well, I should leave.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve replied quickly. Billy licked his lips again and shook his head.

“I do. I really do.” He was tiptoeing into dangerous territory and needed to remove himself before he started doing something dumb. Like _hope_. Steve looked at him then, finally, and Billy’s heart beat faster. His stare was so intense, full of something that sent a thrill down his spine. He stood, slowly, like he might scare Billy away if he moved too fast. Billy wasn’t going to run because he couldn’t move. His muscles were so tense, he was frozen in place. While his trip had mellowed out immensely, he _was_ still tripping, so he couldn’t be sure, but it was like Steve was staring at him with _intent_.

“You should stay. Uh, the night. If you want. You shouldn’t be driving for a while, anyway.” It wasn’t at all what Billy had expected. Steve looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eye again, a light blush on his cheeks. Billy wanted to ask him what that look was about, why he asked how Billy knew he was gay, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’ll take the couch.” Of course, that didn’t mean he had any self control. Being near Steve Harrington was like a drug he never knew he was addicted to. Where Billy was mean and hard, Steve was kind and soft. He cared about people, was loyal to a fucking fault, and he apologized when he fucked up. He was everything Billy wasn’t. Was everything Billy wanted.

“There’s no need. We have plenty of guest bedrooms.” Steve gestured for him to follow, so Billy did, tossing his popsicle stick in the trash when they passed through the kitchen. They went upstairs, passing by a room that Billy only glanced in, but was obviously Steve’s. It was lived in, there were posters and pictures up, some clothes tossed in a corner, but also stale. Like someone grew up here and left, leaving everything the same. Like someone existed there, but didn’t _live_ there. Which didn’t make sense. Billy looked at him, wondering what would make his room feel so empty, but soon got lost in the way his pale forearms looked against his navy sweater. With soft dark hairs and moles. Billy wanted to slowly trace along them, connecting the dots with his finger. Or his tongue. “--sshole, not even listening to me.” Steve gripped his shoulder, pulling Billy out of his thoughts. “I said,” he emphasized, “Is this room okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“Harrington, if it has a bed, it works. Fuck. If it has a chair, it works.” Steve cracked a smile, but only glanced at Billy. He still wouldn’t look at him. So he pushed by, going into the room, and gave Steve a cocky smile. “Thanks, Stevie.” He flushed and Billy’s mouth felt dry.

“No problem,” Steve mumbled. “I’ll, uh, be in my room if you need me.” Billy wasn’t sure he believed that, but he was too tired, too faded to voice anything more than minimal flirting, which he really shouldn’t be voicing _at all_. Steve left, closing the door behind him, and Billy turned off the light, collapsed on the bed, and passed the fuck out.

—

When Billy woke up, the first thing he noticed was his head felt like his brain was punching its way out while also being held in a vice grip. The second was that he was very much not in his room or his car, where he usually slept after parties. He sat up, eyes blurry with sleep and he rubbed at them, wincing when some light leaked out from behind the blinds as he shifted. A cursory glance around the room wasn’t much help. With a groan, Billy leaned forward, gripping his head as he put the night back together. He had been so fucking crossfaded. There was the party, taking the tab, a fucking blank space and then...

Billy’s eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply. Harrington had found him. Harrington and the kid, the one with the hat, had picked him up, drunk and tripping. Then Harrington brought him home and Billy had come out to him. He tensed up, emotions swirling inside of him. Why the fuck had he done that? Oh right, to shock Steve into shutting up. Billy was a fucking dumbass. He got out of the bed, vaguely remembering going to a guest room, and grabbed his keys and shoes, making him pause. He hadn’t removed his keys from his pocket or his shoes from his feet before laying down. Which meant that Steve—

Billy shook his head and clenched his teeth when it made pain explode through his temples. He shoved his feet in his shoes, his keys in his pocket, and left the room. No one was in the hallway, Steve wasn’t in his room, and Billy felt relief wash over him. If what he was remembering about the night before was true, he’d made a fucking fool of himself, and he didn’t want to be confronted by it with a horrible hangover. In fact, he didn’t want to be confronted by it at all. He made sure to tiptoe quietly down the stairs, expertly muffling the clunk of his boots. He had reached the door and was about to leave when there was a cough behind him. Billy whipped around.

“Leaving already? Thought you might want some coffee.” Steve held out the mug, an entertained smile on his face. Billy wasn’t sure what was happening, not really. He’d never actually talked with Steve sober. Not long or honestly, anyway. Steve raised a brow when Billy didn’t move, just stared at Steve like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “It’s fresh.”

“Okay,” Billy croaked. He should be leaving. He should be walking to his car and making plans to avoid Harrington. Instead, he took the mug from Steve and followed him into the kitchen, where he sat awkwardly at the table. He fiddled with his mug as Steve piled some toast onto a plate. He set it on the table with some butter, jam, and honey before sitting across from Billy. Neither of them said anything or made any moves for the toast. Billy cleared his throat and sipped his coffee. “Just toast?” Steve shrugged.

“Do you think you can actually keep eggs down?” It was said jokingly, with no malice, and it made Billy feel weird. Good weird, but good weird was dangerous. “I know when I trip it fucks up my stomach for a while.”

“Toast is fine,” Billy replied. He probably could keep eggs down, but he didn’t want to be here any longer than he needed. They sipped at their coffees in silence, and just when Billy thought maybe Steve wouldn’t bring up the night before--

“About what you told me last night--”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Billy cut him off harshly and for a moment, Steve looked taken aback. He quickly schooled his features back to stern.

“If your dad is abusing you, you need to tell someone. Hop, for instance.”

“There a reason you’re on such good terms with the chief of police?” Steve paused, eyes darting away.

“We went through some shit,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t sure he should be saying anything, “Me, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids. He helped.” He looked pointedly at Billy. “He can help you too.”

“My father,” Billy hissed out, “Would kill me if he thought for a moment I told anyone. And no offense, but I don’t think the Chief is going to be chomping at the bit to help me.” Which was mostly his own fault, but his father loved to call in to the station whenever Billy tried to run, so they already thought he was a no good fuck up. Just an angry kid waiting to wrap himself around a tree or pick one too many fights.

“He would if I asked,” Steve said. Billy leveled him with a confused stare. His throat was tight and he had to set his mug down, because his hands were shaking.

“It’s just one more year and I’m out,” he replied. “I can handle it.”

“But you don’t have to!” Steve ran a hand roughly through his hair, mussing it. Billy wanted to do the same. “Fuck, Hargrove! Why won’t you just fucking let me help you?”

“I don’t--”

“You do!”

“If I leave I have no fucking idea what he’ll do, okay?” Billy snapped. “He hasn’t hit Max yet, but that’s because he has _me_.” Steve recoiled, shocked, and Billy felt sick to his stomach. He stood angrily and made for the door.

“Billy, wait--”

“What?” Billy snapped. He whipped around, angry and ready to fight, but he stopped himself, because what good would it do. Steve was behind him a few feet, face grim and uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, but before Billy could say anything more, Steve let out a sigh.

“You’re fucking hellbent on this, huh?” He looked up, resigned. Billy didn’t respond, which he supposed was a response in itself. “I still think you should say something, Hop doesn’t take this stuff lightly, but,” he held up a hand before Billy could cut in with any snark, “I can’t make you do anything. So, uhm,” he shuffled again, no longer meeting Billy’s eye, “You can come here. If your dad-- If there’s-- You can come here.” Billy gripped the doorknob tightly, eyes wide. Steve still wouldn’t look at him, just sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, and it made Billy’s heart beat just a little faster.

“I--” Billy choked out, unable to find the words he wanted. “Even-- Even after, uh, the other thing I told you?” He had to drag the words out, force himself to say anything at all. Steve looked confused for a moment before blushing slightly.

“Yeah. That-- I’m not, like, well versed in that kind of stuff, but I know that it’s not something you can just… Yeah,” he finished lamely, turning even redder. “That’s a non-issue.” Billy snorted at that, because what a blatant fucking lie. Still…

“Okay,” he finally responded. “Okay.”


End file.
